


To Name and To Call

by ma_malice



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gratuitous Yule, M/M, Pre-Infinity War, Solstice Fic, inappropriate use of a kitchen counter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ma_malice/pseuds/ma_malice
Summary: Asgard rebuilds on the Norwegian coast.Thor and Loki pass the longest night of the year as best they can.





	To Name and To Call

It was the first hour of true darkness, on the longest night of the year, and Thor Odinson stood on a doorstep in the middle of London, a not-insignificant amount of foliage under his arm, and wondered if he was in the right place. 

He had coerced his brother’s address out of Stephen Strange, and it had taken worryingly little work. Indeed, all he’d had to do was ask, and Loki’s whereabouts had been immediately given up. Thor didn’t like to think who else might want that information, or who might have gotten it. The dim street was empty and still, asphalt shining the wake of late-afternoon rain. It was the sort of place some quiet revenge might go unnoticed.

Thor shuffled the pine branch around in his arms, raised a hand to knock, and then thought better of it. The lock was digital and very simple, very easy to short out by covering it with his free hand and letting flickers of electricity crackle over his palm. Smoke crept from between his fingers; the little keypad went dark. The door swung open smoothly.

Down a clinically clean hallway, up a handful of stairs, and through another easily disabled door, the apartment looked not so much abandoned as unlived in. Thor stepped inside gingerly, very assiduously not touching anything that might spring to life and attack him. There were a great number of highly polished surfaces with absolutely nothing on them, many sharp angles and clean lines, a lot of worryingly designed furniture with no discernable purpose. To his left there was a tiny kitchen; on the right, a living space of sorts, with a tall window that glanced out at the city. At the very edge of the room, a wrought spiral staircase spun delicately up into darkness, the kind of dramatic touch that reminded Thor suddenly of Asgard.

But, other than this, there was nothing remarkable about the place, nothing signifying it as home to power and trouble. Not, at least, until Loki dropped out of the upper shadows by the staircase to land sure-footed on the rug, a knife in each hand. Thor instinctively moved his log in front of his chest. Loki took him in for a moment, then straightened up. 

“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.” 

“Hello,” Thor replied, a beat too late. Loki raised his eyebrows and put the daggers down on the pristine kitchen counter with a clatter. Then he retreated to the far side of the room and folded his arms.

“What dire crisis do you bring news of today?” he asked, fingers tapping against the sleeve of his jacket, perfectly neat despite the fact he had apparently been hanging from the ceiling.

“Does there need to be a crisis?” Thor tried. Loki tucked his arms up tighter. 

“Yes,” he said, after a considering pause. “I would infinitely prefer it.” 

Thor shrugged. “Well it’s only me.” He barely just head Loki mutter “crisis enough” and decided it was time to move the conversation along before he was forcibly removed.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, gazing around at the room. 

“That’s really none of your business.” 

Loki’s eyes kept flitting to the substantial bit of spruce tucked under Thor’s arm, but he hadn’t yet said anything and Thor hadn’t offered. It was very tempting to see how long that state of affairs could be carried on – if Thor would walk in and out with it totally unquestioned.

That was not, however, the purpose of a Yule log, and Thor thought that Loki needed the darkness of this night kept at bay more than he did himself. Or at least, Thor had his brother for that, and he wasn’t sure Loki thought of himself as having anyone. Wordlessly, he set the thing down on the spotless counter, sending a shower of pine needles and dirt onto the marble. Loki followed his actions with a pinched looked.

“A stick. Why thank you. What am I to do with this?” 

Thor didn’t offer an explanation – they both knew full well what the branch’s meaning was, and were clearly just not going to talk about it. Instead, he started turning over the blades Loki had left on the counter. One was of Asgardian make, well balanced and intricately carved. The other was from Earth, and if he wasn’t greatly mistaken, of the kind typically used to cut food. Its black plastic handle was worn, the blade quite dull.

“You can’t be happy here,” he said without thinking. Immediately, he felt Loki bristle. 

“Oh, can’t I?” 

Thor backed down. “Are you happy here?” 

For a moment, Loki held his combative posture, but then he gave a deep and very dramatic sigh. 

“I have been happier,” he allowed. Thor was momentarily stunned. He had never known Loki to admit to happiness, at least not without injuring someone first. “It’s not home,” Loki continued, “but neither is that wretched camp.”

“It could be,” Thor said. Already their makeshift town was taking shape, more stone and wood, and less carbon-fiber every day. “Come back with me.” 

“No,” Loki said flatly, and turned away. It was not unexpected, but his refusal stung more than Thor had thought it would.

“Why?” he demanded, louder than he meant to, and Loki swung back around fiercely. 

“Do you really think they would accept me there, brother?” he snapped. “Do you think I would find my life pleasant? I would last two days before I was thrown over the edge of the cliff – or I jumped. The only reason I did not do so on the ship was because I would have felt guilty leaving you and your ridiculous incompetence in charge.” 

There was a long pause as Thor decided which part of the declaration to comment on. 

“Well then,” he finally said, calm as he could manage. “May I have permission to come and see you here? Will you tell me if you intend to leave?”

“You are patently already here.”

“But uninvited, which is not the same.” 

Loki sighed again, then put his hands on Thor’s shoulders and breathed in deeply: “Why hello, brother, what a enjoyable surprise this is, I didn’t know you had my address, I must have given it to you and forgotten, won’t you please come in?” 

“Loki.” 

Loki dropped his hands petulantly. “Well, you began it.” 

“If you leave …”

“If I happen to change address, I will send you a formal letter. I will even invite you to the next housewarming.” 

Thor nodded, satisfied with this.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this little inquisition,” Loki continued, “but why are you here?”

Thor tipped his head towards the branch he had set down. “It’s the solstice.” 

Loki went quite still. “Is it really? I didn’t think a world this mild would notice a few more minutes of darkness.” His was determinedly casual, but after a moment he seemed to realise it hadn’t worked. “Don’t you have a festival to oversee?” he tried instead, a whine creeping into his tone. 

“How often have I been present for the solstice celebrations?” Thor said. “I seem to recall we were most frequently taking advantage of the unguarded kitchens.” _That_ , he thought to himself, _among other things_. 

“Yes, you’re right,” Loki said. “Your not being there will provide the people with a comforting sense of continuity.”

Thor thought about this – his people, waiting for the dawn. They’d been waiting for months. The night had been long indeed for Asgard, and he still wasn’t sure that when first light broke it would truly mean the end of the darkness. This grief, the sudden sharpness of it, cut down his desire for Loki’s careful game of barbed words, a dance that required so much more than he could give.

“I wait for the sun to return,” he said simply. “I would rather not do so without you.”

Loki hesitated in his response, and Thor knew he too considered the darkness. Then his bearing reformed, stiffened again as his guard went back up. “I am used to being alone.”

“Should I go?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Loki huffed. “You may as well stay, now that you’re here.” He looked away, and made to fuss with the branch that Thor had brought in, running his fine fingers through the green needles. “I was waiting for the dawn as well,” he finally said quietly. “I was on the roof when you broke in.”

“I did not break in, the door was open.”

“The door was most certainly not open.”

“Well, it is now. You have a roof?”

“Most houses do, brother.”

“Lead on, then,” Thor said with a grin, and temporarily stymied, Loki sighed and disappeared back up the darkened staircase. 

 

Thor had been on many rooftops – an occupational hazard of working with Tony Stark, a man with an inexplicable taste for open patios seventy or eighty stories in the air – but this was simply a flat surface of tiles, without railing or adornment. A cluster of half-moon apple slices lay scattered and abandoned by the gutter, and Thor thought he’d found an explanation for the second knife. Without pausing, Loki strode easily across the open space and perched himself at its edge, feet kicking out into the night.

It was certainly not the highest shelf he’d ever dangled from, nor the most precarious, but the sight still grabbed at Thor’s heart uncomfortably. He crossed the roof to carefully sit down by his brother, but the feeling did not fade.

From here, they could see down onto the orange-lit street, the few sidewalk trees trying desperately to grow, their roots cracking up through the cement. Here and there they had been cut back, sometimes full down to the ground. Occasional cars splashed past, headlights bouncing on the wet road, their destinations a mystery. Did they feel it too, the shortest day of the year, the terrible closeness of oblivious? Most likely not, Thor thought. He’d never felt it as a child, never understood the solemnity of the ceremony. Not until he’d seen long stretches of darkness himself, felt them in his heart.

But he’d seen the dawn every time – in the Bifrost rebuilt after it splintered, in Val’s shit-eating grin every time she beat him soundly while sparring, in Loki sniping at him as though they were still bickering children. He hoped that, back across the ocean, gathered on the cold midnight coast among traditional fires and food, his people felt this dawn like the breaking of all sorrows.

But for now it was night, the dome of the sky all mantled over with smoke and streetlights. Out on the coast, the stars were hot and huge, looking as though they were new struck from the fire, but here they were cold, distant things, only the brightest even discernable. 

“Do you remember –” Thor started, at the same time as Loki said, “I was thinking –”

With a graceful wave of his hand, Loki gave way.

“The solstice after the Kormt froze,” Thor said. “We snuck out at dawn and didn’t return until midday the next day.” 

“Vividly,” Loki said dryly. “My ears still burn when I remember the lecture Father gave us.”

Thor smiled. This was not exactly the path he had been following, but such was the danger of talking with someone who had known you all your life – a good hazard, in the end. There was strange comfort in being known, even here, on this slightly damp and unimposing roof at the other end of the realms. 

“That is not the part I remember most, I must admit,” he said, looking down. It hadn’t been the first time they’d snuck away during some important cultural event, but it had been the first time they’d put mass confusion in the halls and their own solitude to a good use. 

“No,” Loki said, smiling faintly, “nor I.”

He paused then, and without looking away from the horizon, reached across to take Thor’s hand, sliding their fingers neatly together. They hadn’t touched each other on the long voyage out of the ruins of Asgard – the anonymity and forgiveness of open space was less so when you were sharing it with several hundred others, all of whom needed direction and comfort and not to be given anything else to worry about.

Loki had kissed him once, though, brief and bright in an access corridor they were reconnoitering. Then he’d disappeared as soon as they made landfall. Now, with his heels tapping idly against the walls, and his hand in Thor’s, the night felt raw, ready to spark.

“Are you sure you should not be with them?” Loki asked quietly.

“Solstice is about making it through to the day,” Thor said. ‘They can do that without me – they’ve certainly done it before. I – I cannot do that without you.”

He dared a look up, and saw Loki’s face, quiet and contemplative in the dull wash of streetlights, saw the question and then the answer form in his dark eyes, and then Loki was leaning forwards to kiss him, open-mouthed and warm, wild like a sudden burst of rain.

It started out as the kind of thing that might be acceptable for an open roof, then very quickly turned into the sort of thing that wasn’t. For all Midgardian clothes lacked in craftmanship, Thor thought muzzily with the flat of Loki’s palm pressing into his spine, they were very, very easy to shuck off.

Loki was the first to break away, his breath hitching. 

“We should –” he said.

“Downstairs?” Thor suggested.

Loki nodded, but instead of standing, he shifted forwards to kiss Thor again, more careful this time, like a whittler carving out a figure from wood – precise and thorough and slow. Then he swung himself back to his feet with fluid grace, while Thor was left temporarily unable to move properly.

“Don’t fall off my roof,” Loki warned, as Thor finally got his knees firmly enough under him to follow his brother, back from the edge of the building and towards the hatch that lead inside.

Loki went backwards down the stairs, which was the kind of incredibly foolish thing only he would do, but the part of Thor’s brain that might have thought to stop him seemed to have unfortunately fogged over. Instead, he only tried to keep his hands steady and close, ready to grab Loki if he stumbled, and to ruck up his shirt when he didn’t. Gingerly, painfully slowly, they made it to ground level without substantial injury. After the jeweled glow of the city and the streetlights, it seemed dark and tomblike inside. 

“Come home with me,” Thor said again on impulse. Their settlement was rough, it was true, but it was bright with fires and lanterns, filled with as much laugher and fellowship as could be mustered. Loki pulled him in a little closer.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he said against Thor’s lips, and if it was a lie, Thor let is pass. He was already being given more than he had thought to ask. 

They stumbled backwards a few steps to the marble counter, where Thor could steady himself with one hand while Loki stepped out of his shoes, and they could both pretend for a few moments that they were going to deal with all these buttons like civilized people. 

“Wait, stop, stop,” Loki said suddenly, disentangling himself. “This is a counter.” He sounded vaguely scandalized. “I have a bed.” 

There was logic in this, Thor acknowledge, but the hot shock of being invited into his brother’s bed rather overwrote his ability to respond. Without words, he lifted a hand to Loki’s face, knuckles brushing against soft skin.

“No, no, no,” Loki said, unswayed. “I prepare food here.” 

“Do you really?” Thor said, regaining his voice as he twisted his fingers in Loki’s dark hair. “I had imagined you employed some kind of staff.” 

“I despair of you,” Loki said and shoved him firmly. Now it was Thor’s turn to be walked backwards across the room, stumbling and steered around sharp edges, until they tripped backwards onto one of Loki’s incredibly impractical pieces of furniture. 

The couch, which looked like it wouldn’t hold up under even a light sitting, did not take well to having two Asgardians crash down on it. Slowly, like a branch sagging under snow, the side legs of the construction bowed out, and they were tipped onto the floor. Thor tried to muffle his laughter in Loki’s neck, and he heard Loki huff with a mixture of amusement and petulance. 

“If you’re quite done destroying my home,” he said, and then stopped. The words turned over in the space between them. Thor shut his eyes against Loki’s skin and tried not to see again the white afterimage of a world imploding. He felt Loki let out a shaky breath. 

“Forgive me,” Loki whispered, turning so he was speaking into Thor’s hair, in the general vicinity of his ear. 

Thor couldn’t tell what he was apologizing for, what measure of absolution was being asked. He didn’t know if it was the kind he could give, not with so heavy a weight on his own heart. He drew back a little, so they were looking at each other once more. Loki only edged slightly closer, a rare look of naked hope on his face. Thor was not yet sure how many of his people’s wounds he could close, what kind of healing could be held amongst them all, but he knew this, and he kissed Loki was though he were the last solid thing in the world.

 

*** 

 

Thor woke when the sun was half-way up a gritty sky, the light sharp on his face. The couch was still titled clumsily to the floor; he had come to rest half on and half off it. Loki’s pale arm was flung out casually over Thor’s chest and his face was mashed inelegantly into a throw cushion. For a brief moment panic blotted out the fondness welling in Thor’s heart, but then he remembered that they were alone, miles and years away from chastisement or duty, and he settled back down, lying flat and staring up at Loki’s preternaturally clean ceiling. 

“You are letting the light into my eyes,” Loki said suddenly from beside him, voice crisp and annoyed despite the hour. 

“Yes, I know.” Thor jabbed Loki in the ribs, attempting to goad him into unscrewing his eyes. “The sun is up, the day is begun.”

“I can see that,” Loki snapped. “Presumably it will still be so in the afternoon, so now will you please let me go back to sleep.”

“Of course,” Thor said, but mostly to himself as Loki had shoved his head under the pillow and only a few tangles of black hair now protruded. “I suppose it will be so.”

Then, without meaning to, followed suit and closed his eyes. In the first light of the lengthening year, they both slept.

**Author's Note:**

> It's Winter Solstice this side of the world, so Happy Solstice! I got you ... this.
> 
> Title from Jesse Byock's translation of 'kenning' in his appendix to the Prose Edda. Sorry, Prof. Byock. I'm sure this is not entirely what you had in mind when you wrote the notes.


End file.
